Helena rose from her chair, threw herself on the sofa and burst into
tears.

He, too, rose and went to her. He took her hand in his and felt her
pulse, afraid lest her attack might be serious. She seized his hand
convulsively, and pressed it against her bosom.

"Don't leave me," she sobbed, "don't go. Stay, and let me keep faith
in you."

For the first time in his life he saw her giving way to her emotions.
This delicate body, which he had loved and admired so much, could be
warmed into life! Red, warm blood flowed in those blue veins. Blood
which could distil tears. He gently stroked her brow.

"Oh!" she sighed, "why aren't you always good to me like that? Why
hasn't it always been so?"

"Well," he answered, "why hasn't it? Tell me, why not?"

Helena's eyelids drooped. "Why not?" she breathed, softly.

She did not withdraw her hand and he felt a gentle warmth radiating
from her velvety skin; his love for her burst into fresh flames, but
this time he felt that there was hope.

At last she rose to her feet.

"Don't despise me," she said, "don't despise me, dear."